


Recovery

by meilimango



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Angst, Canon Compliant, Character Study-ish, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Tending to Wounds, Unrequited Love, ackertalk when, both physical and emotional, post chapter 130
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-11
Updated: 2020-11-11
Packaged: 2021-03-09 21:54:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,346
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27503377
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/meilimango/pseuds/meilimango
Summary: “He’s become quite the idealist, hasn’t he.”“He’s. . . different now.”“But you miss him.”-Mikasa tends to Levi's wounds and realizes that he's not the only one in need of healing.
Relationships: Mikasa Ackerman/Eren Yeager, Mikasa Ackerman/Levi
Comments: 6
Kudos: 115





	Recovery

Light spills through the Captain’s windowpane as Mikasa Ackerman takes a deep breath, rolling the silver needle between her fingers. He has disadorned his bandages, abandoning them to the left of his cot as she stays silent and focused before him, adjusting her seating on the wooden crate.

He watches her, staring vacantly as he shadows her gaze, her own eyes following the gash slicing through his right eye, his lips and clean through his chin. It’s not like she hasn’t seen the wound on his face before, but the severity of it always surprises her. It’s a wonder how he’s still alive.

“Care to continue?”

Mikasa blinks. _Right._

Slowly, she tries again. She leans forward, their faces level and. . . _very close_. Maybe even too close for comfort. She catches herself, clenching her teeth together before mentally reminding herself that this is not the first time she is attending to his wounds and that their proximity is in fact, a trifling thing to be swaying her attention.

Anchoring her focus on the wound before her, her left hand stubbornly hesitates as she extends it towards him, her touch gentle as she rests her palm between the lobe of his ear and the sharpness of his jaw. She holds his head in her grasp for support, and then, she starts threading again.

At first, she’s steady, her fingers confident as she pulls the needle through his numbed skin and out again. Despite herself, she catches the look of his unharmed eye, stoic and unraveling as it has been for the past few days since he’s recovered enough to stand, and a part of her wavers.

“Shit—!”

Before Mikasa can react, Levi flinches away, a violent hiss leaving his lips. She reels back, drawing some much-needed space between them. The needle in her hand is stained heavy with a coat of red. She doesn’t dare look him in the eyes.

“I’m sorry, Captain,” she manages to utter out. Although it’s genuine, her words sound much too feeble to be convincing.

He gives her a flat look. “Are you? That’s the third time you’ve impaled me.”

She grimaces, clutching the needle between her fingers again, firmer this time. “I’m sorry.”

“You said that already.”

As if she wasn’t embarrassed enough. “I’ll be more careful.”

Eyes downcast, she shakes her head, trying to rid herself of her daze. With an attempt to collect herself, she pivots her rear on the crate, distracting herself by rinsing the medical towel into a bowl of ice water, its liquid now tinted in a translucent pink. Fabric now dampened, she wipes away the blood from the needle.

“Ackerman.”

Once more, she sets the silver betwixt her thumb and forefinger. There’s a shakiness that won’t subside.

“Ackerman, _stop._ " 

Before she tries to position herself, a hand catches her wrist, his grip firm and commanding. She doesn’t move.

He looks at her with hooded eyes and a shiver crawls up her spine. There’s a disappointment in his voice that pins her in place, too ashamed to retort. Clearly exasperated by the whole ordeal, he drops his head and breathes a heavy sigh. She doesn’t blame him. 

When he releases her, the whisper of his grip against her wrist stings her.

As the silence drones on, she stands slowly, attempting to make herself useful. Wordlessly, she takes the equipment, now soddened with blood, and carefully stacks them together before leaving the room and disposing of them need be. As she rinses her hands clean, she takes her time— perhaps, even longer than she should have take. Her reluctance to face his disappointment again was unwavering. When she finally returns, however, she’s surprised to find Levi with lids closed and his head tilted back in mock rest. Even as the rest of his body is still recovering from his injuries, he’s managed to bandage himself up in her absence, albeit haphazardly, despite the half-stitched job.

The silence engulfs them once more, so much so that she considers just leaving him be. She decides against it, however, because although not always courteous, she’s at least respectful. She owes him that much.

She finds herself dithering before speaking, fearing she may worsen his mood by breaking his peace and apologizing again. Instead, she sides towards a more honest approach.

“Permission to speak freely, sir?”

A single eyelid opens slowly, the blankness in his gaze barely acknowledging her. Mikasa takes this as a sign to continue, letting out a heavy breath.

“I know my performance has been lacking recently,” she starts, quiet and unsure. “I’ve just been a little. . . _off._ ”

“That’s an understatement.”

He doesn't miss a beat.

Her hands grip together, tighter. She tries to straighten herself. “I’ll do better, sir. I swear it.”

A scoff. “Will you?”

She falters, his response unexpected. It’s the challenge in the tone of his voice that makes the intent of his words very clear. Unlike Jean, or Armin, or any of the others, Levi isn’t easy to fool.

_Will you?_ he had asked. What excuse did she have? It’s unfathomable to feel anything _but_ sure in her position. The land is at war, now more than ever, and humanity can not afford a single misstep. What good can she do if she allows something as silly as her emotions get the best of her performance? She won’t allow it. Can’t allow it.

As if on cue, the voice of her comrade rings in her ears.

_Can you kill Eren?_

Mikasa clenches her eyes shut, ridding herself of the intrusive thoughts. There’s a pulsing in her heart that threatens her composure.

Then, Levi speaks.

”Your brother.”

Her eyes shoot up in an instant at her Captain’s words, a wary expression surely emblazoned on her face. She tilts her head at him with brows raised, still unsure if she heard correctly. Her heart threatens to pull at its strings.

“Eren Yeager,” Levi confirms, and all of a sudden, the air in her lungs escapes her, leaving her without a moment’s breath.

Despite her feelings, she stutters inwardly, heart aching at his mere mention.

Levi continues, “He’s become quite the idealist, hasn’t he.”

She forces herself to let out the breath she didn’t know she was holding in.

“He’s,” she begins, a clear affliction in her voice, “. . . different now.”

“But you miss him.”

She stiffens.

“You’re allowed to miss him. He’s your family. Your best friend. Or. . .” Levi trails before taking a brief pause. “Perhaps something more?”

A shock strikes at her heart as she stares at her Captain with eyes wide. If Mikasa was embarrassed before, she‘s absolutely mortified now. Suddenly, she’s all too aware of the sinking in her chest and quickness of her pulse and the familiar loss of breath. Suddenly, she’s taken back to a familiar scene, and her hands are in front of her, stilled in shock on the table before her, and so are Armin’s hands, and Gabi’s hands, and _Eren’s—_

“Apologies,” Levi says. He clears his throat. “Did I overstep?”

His question pulls her out of her daze, and with it went the lapse in her heart. Replacing it, however, was the feeling of confusion. There’s a cadence to his voice that she can’t seem to place. Whether he’s being genuine, she can’t seem to tell.

There’s an air about his words that is different than usual. He is prying her, no doubt, and under different circumstances, she knows she would’ve folded on an instant, whether she had wanted to or not.

It is then that she realizes that the laxness in his eyes and the sly curiosity in his voice is not a call or command. He is not speaking as a superior to his subordinate. It’s just a question, from one person to another. The choice is now hers to make.

For that, Mikasa is grateful.

She doesn’t answer right away, instead letting the question simmer in her mind as a new silence encloses the room. Will she humour him? There’s a pull in her brain that yells at her for daring to consider it. What is there to consider anyway? To her, Eren is. . .

_She remembers his voice, like a light amidst the well of darkness that consumed her. She remembers his words as she watched him struggle against the man with his hands around his neck._ Fight, _he had said._ Live, _he had said. She remembers taking the knife in her hands, tainted red with the blood of her family. She remembers how it felt. The splinters of the wooden hilt, the weight of the metal in her hands. She remembers like a switch, how she knew exactly what needed to be done._

She looks at her Captain. He stays static in his place, eyes always so tired but nevertheless staring right back at her.

_Have you ever had a moment where you felt a power awaken inside of you?_

A wave of coolness brushes against the bareness of her neck. A tired exhale leaves her lips. She closes her eyes in defeat.

“No, you’re right. I,” she pauses for a second, a wave of breathlessness overcoming her. A shot of anxiety fills her body as she bites the inside of her cheek. “I. . . did love him.”

The words sound so foreign coming from her lips. She shivers at her own admission, the heaviness in her heart unwilling to settle. Her knuckles turn white as she continues. “Although now,” her voice is crestfallen, “I’m not so sure it was so much as love or just. . . devotion.”

“Oh?”

“Maybe I never had a choice.”

_Ah._ She should stop talking.

“It was as if ever since the day I met Eren— when he saved me from those bandits all those years ago— he gave me a new life. A new purpose. Almost as if it was _in my blood to protect him_.”

As she utters out those final words, she realizes that her hands— they’re shaking again. She digs her nails into her palms, hiding them behind her back.

“Who—” he starts to say, but he stops himself, closing his eyes for a long moment before speaking again. He looks at her incredulously.

“And you believe that?”

Mikasa stares at him with eyes blank. She doesn’t answer him.

As if coaxed by her lack of response, Levi straightens, steadily swinging his legs to the foot of his cot, and stands. He narrows his eyes at her, hiding his struggle as he steps forward. “So, if you’re so devoted to him, then why aren’t you with him?”

Her gaze falls to the ground. “He doesn’t want me by his side.”

“But if he did,” he continues as he encircles her, and it’s as if she can feel the dread forming within her veins even before he speaks again.

Because she _knows_ what he will ask.

“Would you join him?”

She feels it; the blood draining from her face the instant those words left Levi’s mouth, the guilt building in her chest for weeks since Eren left the Corps— left _her_ — releasing in its place. It is not the question itself that leaves her unequivocally horrified, but instead what lies within his words that gnaws at her conscience with cruelty. 

What is more important to her? Eren? Humanity?

Or rather, her _own_ humanity?

“I—” she starts to say, but the words choke her on the way out, refusing to leave her throat.

She knows what she should say. In fact, no other answer is even remotely acceptable, _especially_ in her position. The correct choice is clear.

With her only option in mind, Mikasa takes a silent breath.

“I. . . can’t answer that.”

And it’s true. She doesn’t have an answer. Given the choice to do it all over again, to do _everything_ over again, she doesn’t know what she would choose. In her heart, she knows that hesitance, that indecision, or rather, that feeling of losing anyone else she loves, is something that scares her beyond words.

Then, it becomes silent for much too long. Maybe she should have lied. After all, this is her superior she is talking to. She’s unstable. A liability. She should have known better. Mikasa hangs her head in guilt.

“Of course.”

She takes in a sharp breath. His voice is a voice she doesn’t recognize. It surprises her.

When she finds the courage to raise her head again, she finds that the look on his face doesn’t condemn her. Instead, his face looks older. Melancholic.

Then, his expression hardens. “But soon, you will come face to face with this very same question. And when that time comes, you won’t have time to contemplate the answer,” he says, as if he’s seen, heard, and done this all before.

In fact, she _knows_ he has.

“I. . . know,” is all she manages to say. “I know.”

It’s quiet for a moment and she glances at him, following his gaze as they land upon her neck, skin pale and naked without the familiarity of red that used to adorn it. Suddenly, she feels too exposed.

“So let me rephrase then,” he says finally. He turns, walking as best he can manage until he’s all but face to face to her, leaving only enough room for her to feel nothing but the burn of his eyes. “This question is for you, Mikasa Ackerman. What do you truly want?"

She swallows.

Her name rings against the drums of her ears. Mikasa Ackerman is not sure of anything in her life. Not at all sure if her choices are correct. Not at all sure if her wants are truly her wants. What she does know, however, is that the aching feeling in her heart beckons her to respond.

_This question is for you._

“I want to reach him," she says. _Declares._ Her voice is firm this time. No hesitation, not anymore. "I want to reach Eren."

Then, even if only for a brief moment, the glare in her Captain’s eyes wash over with something Mikasa can only describe as pride.

"Good," he says to her. "You're the only one who can."


End file.
